


In a Different Town

by jojothecr



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, M/M, written in 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojothecr/pseuds/jojothecr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="https://twitter.com/JensenAckles/status/524781465532653568/photo/1">this</a> photo of Jensen, and <a href="https://twitter.com/jarpad/status/524778753650462720/photo/1">this</a> photo of Jared. "You stole my shirt"</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Different Town

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Потерянные](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799474) by [Savarna_Scaramouche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savarna_Scaramouche/pseuds/Savarna_Scaramouche)



_you stole my shirt_

Jensen doesn’t reply, Jared’s response lost in the tweet traffic.

Just a joke, an innocent marginal note. But not completely. Because Jared suddenly realizes something, remembers more.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and he’s not quite sure if he means it. There’s a part of him that just wants to run, down the street, and farther away. A few months back, several years backward.

She knows, suspects, at least. But she doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t ask. She never does. And Jared’s thankful, because he doesn’t have the answers. He doesn’t have _any_ answers.

 

Phone at his ear, he paces the flagstone flooring around the swimming pool, empty now, prepared for winter, scattered leaves and fallen off blooms instead of water. They could clear it, but Jared likes the mess, the somber atmosphere it creates. It fits this month, the season.

Jensen answers after the second ring. “You want the shirt back _now_?”

Jared smiles. Jensen’s voice alone, the quiet, friendly tone of it, so calming, soothing. “Keep it. I believe I started with the stealing.”

“I believe you did. I still miss that bat guy, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t fit you anyway.”

“No.”

Jared doesn’t really know; he never wore it, he never tried it on. Jensen’s once favorite t-shirt with _Batman_. Gray, with black wings in a yellow oval, faded already, worn. He keeps it, because it still smells like Jensen, like that one night in Rome. It’s probably only a memory he’s holding on, though, wishful thinking. Jensen’s t-shirt smells of Jared’s other clothes now, of the fabric softener Gen uses. But if that’s the only thing he can have, Jared will keep on pretending.

Jensen doesn’t say anything, and Jared listens to his breathing, or just imagines he is. Because all he can really hear are the noises from the TV. Jensen’s gruff voice. His own. 

 

“Are you okay, Jens?”

“Uhm, yeah? Why?”

“It’s just… The photo you tweeted. You look kinda sad. And lonely.”

Always alone. Just the weekends, they're Danneel’s, and JJ’s. Two days a week when Jensen lives like a dad, a husband. So very few of them. And the rest, it’s just the silence of his apartment, phone calls, and video chats.

Jensen chuckles softly, rough edges of fatigue bruising his voice. “I’m fine, Jare. Tired, ‘s all.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“’kay.”

“Are _you_ okay?”

Jared looks around, lowers his voice, like someone’s listening. “I miss you.”

“Because we haven’t seen each other at all today.”

Only fourteen hours of shooting.

“That’s not the same.”

“No. I suppose it’s not.”

“Jensen, do you—“ _Miss me, too? Wish there was a way? Wish we tried it earlier? Before? Wish we_ never _did?_

 

Only one night, only that one time. It was supposed to be so simple, so easy. Just to break the unbearable tension, clear the air. To prove that there was nothing else, nothing more. In a city that was always somehow theirs. 

Cobblestones, and ancient fountains, the magic of the Eternal City, of Europe alone, old and unique. Wine, and Steve’s guitar, and Jensen’s voice to it. Mild, but confident. Songs his father had taught him, Texas on his lips. And just them. Late night that crawled into dawn, without their knowing. A pact behind a locked door, whispers, and touches, and kisses that shouldn’t mean a thing. That meant a lot more. And, “Forget”. 

Jared couldn’t, he didn’t want to. But he promised.

 

“It’s over, Jare. It has to be.”

“No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t _have to_ be.”

“I can’t, you know that. That night was just… Just that one night. I _can't_.”

‘Can’t’ not ‘don’t want to’. And even that sounds terribly unconvincing.

“But if you could. If you _could_ … Would you?”

“I think we both know the answer to that, Jare.”

 _Yes._ Unvoiced. Never spoken. Never _to be_ spoken.

“Yeah. Well, I-I guess I should go back to—“ _Gen_ “—the episode. Just wanted to—“ _Hear you_ “— to call and say you did a really great job on this one.”

“Thank you. So did you.”

“Thanks… So, uh, good night, Jen.”

“Night, Jay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Steve Carlson


End file.
